Breaching the Distance
by Snowdancer
Summary: Sequel to Finding a Place to Belong. Hisoka's still dying, Muraki's still alive and kicking, and all in all, things are getting worse (in a way).
1. Prologue

_Warnings: Shonen-ai (Tsuzuki x Hisoka), angst…the usual._

_Spoilers: Anime, a little of the manga._

_Disclaimer: Owned by Matsushita Yoko. I'm just messing around with her characters for a while. _

**_Notes_**_: This is a sequel to Finding a Place to Belong, so if you're really interested in reading this, please read Belong first, or I doubt this would make much sense. Also, please be patient, since it won't be getting anywhere till the end of my government exams in December. Mostly, I'll try to get a chapter up every month, but I don't think I'll be able to manage it. I might not even be able to finish it after my exams, since I'll be spending all of my time trying to get into college and the likes. Um…in short, I might fail miserably in this. _

_Prologue_

            There was a time when he didn't know who he was, what he was, where he was. Life flashed by in monochrome, but he could never tell if it was black, white or even gray. 

            Those were the colours of his world—dull, uninteresting, and dreary. Those were the colours that taught him not to care, not to love, not to trust. He couldn't care because there was no one to care for him, couldn't love because he found no one worth loving, couldn't trust because the trust of a small child was brutally broken. 

            When a person could no longer care, love or trust, it meant that he could no longer _feel_. It didn't matter, because if he couldn't feel for himself, he felt for others. And he hated it. He hated it because the world that existed in another human's mind was always colourful, and those colours shattered the peace of his cocoon. They reminded him of his insignificance. They told him the truth that he had known all along, but simply didn't want to admit. 

            They told him that he should never have been born, because his world had no colours.

            And everybody should have colours in their minds. 

***

            Then someone came along, and that someone started adding the colours to the shades of black, white, and gray. First came the light, hesitant dabs of yellow, then came the melancholic blue, followed by the comfort of a soothing green.  

            Soon the colours evolved into a confusing blend, just like an abstract piece of art where the artist would strew the canvas with every colour imaginable, and the onlooker could never tell if the picture he was looking at was the sea, the sky or the earth. 

            It came to the point where the canvas itself did not know if it was supposed to be scarlet, mauve, or cerulean. 

            In the end, only the artist himself knew what his work was supposed to be, because he was the one that gave a blank canvas the colours that made it a work of art. 

            It was what he was waiting for all along. He was the blank canvas, and he simply hoped that someone would be the artist that painted the colours. 

            He wanted that someone to tell him who he was, because only the artist would understand the colours of his making. 

            That someone did.

            And when he knew who he was, he knew that he deserved to be in this world as well.

            Because he now had colours.

            Then he didn't understand, _couldn't_ understand… 

            Why did someone have to destroy a painting that was already finished? Why did someone have to ruin the work of another?

            He asked the artist, and the artist couldn't give him an answer. 

            Instead, the artist cried, and he knew he would never ask that question again, because he didn't want to see that person cry. 

            But it didn't stop him from wanting to know why.

***

            "Why…" Hisoka asked softly of the air. 

            The person next to him stirred from his seat and looked at him in mild curiosity. "Why what?"

            Hisoka shook his head and turned away. "Nothing."

            The other looked disbelieving. "Really? Tell me!" 

            "It's nothing, Tsuzuki." _// Nothing you would ever be able to answer. //_

            But every question had its answer, and he sure that there was one to his as well. He just had to search for it himself.

            For now, it was calming to lie back and let the faint tides of Tsuzuki's mental touch wash over him. It was like reaching out to warm himself by a fire, just enjoying the innocent warmth and companionship the other offered. It was all he wanted—to simply not have to face being alone. He didn't need anyone to tell him that it wasn't much of a demand; he knew it wasn't. It was what every child would have, what every normal human would own. And because he wasn't normal, he didn't have it; because he wasn't just any child, he didn't own it. 

            Now he _has _it, but it would not last. If he cried for what he could not get, it would not be out of sorrow or grief, although he would feel those as keenly as any emotion he had ever experienced. No, if he cried, it would be because of the sheer anger and hatred, the utter resentment that he felt at the whole _unfairness_ of it. 

            And he cried tears of fury.

            "Hisoka?" Warm arms wrapped themselves around him, and soft words that meant nothing and everything soothed away his tears. Worry and anxiety seeped into his being without being intrusive like everything else he felt. Those emotions melded into his soul as part of his own, and the tears slowly ceased. The feelings that would normally hurt had they come from another didn't--they offered comfort. The touches that he would have rejected were instead accepted gladly, purely because they came from _him_--Tsuzuki and no one else.  

            Tsuzuki cried too, but for different reasons. His tears were mostly tears of grief, and those tears weren't so easily placated. If Hisoka leaned against him and gave him the silent reassurance they constantly gave each other, it might or might not stop the tears. Sometimes Tsuzuki would cry himself to sleep, or sometimes Hisoka would find himself waking up to what would seem like any other ordinary day, the cheerful sound of Tsuzuki's voice, the enticing aroma of coffee…

            But he only had to close his eyes, and he would see the tears, the anguish, and then the emotions from yesterday would once again flood his mind and everything would shatter. 

            His own tears resembled something more alike to a child's tantrum, much as he hated to admit it. It was like having something he had always wanted in his grasp…only to have it snatched away again. He might kick and scream for it, but he was never going to get it back. So he cried instead at his own inability and helplessness and worked himself up into a frenzy enough to do murder. 

            Anger and grief, acceptance and denial, guilt and accusation. Two people who were different in almost every way, yet found mutual consolation in being with each other. 

            If only this could last.

            At the slight tingling that always signaled the beginning of the pain and agony, he lifted his arms, letting the long sleeves fall back to reveal the curses that were eternally etched into his skin. His movements were almost impassionate; something that was done so frequently until he no longer felt the importance of it. To him, nothing mattered anymore. If he had to endure this for another three years, so be it. It was a small price; a token he had to give to experience what he had never experienced in life. 

            There was no such thing as perfection in this dark world, and his world was marred by the shadows of another's lust.

            As curse scars blazed to life and mind-numbing pain commenced, he finally understood. Amidst fresh tears, the answer to his question finally came.

            Why did someone have to destroy a painting that was already finished?

            Because that painting was flawed.

            He was that painting. 

            And the curse upon him was proof of his imperfection.

***

            If time was never enough for him, it flies when his days passed by in hazy catches of red and black. He would fall asleep to the soft morning rays, only to open his eyes to the reddish pink hues of sunset. And he would find himself screaming inwardly at the loss of yet another precious day. 

            He didn't need to count the days to know that he didn't have many left. If he did, he would know that he had half a year.

            All he had to do was reach out, and he could feel the warmth that was Tsuzuki under the tips of his finger, feel the essence of the other's existence. 

            It was always that way between them--just the hesitant, tentative physical touches, sometimes the slight slivers of mental exploration that slipped past their senses. It was never anything more, and neither asked for more. It was everything they needed, and everything they wanted. 

            Right now, he only let his finger trail down Tsuzuki's cheek before quickly withdrawing that hand. He wasn't afraid; it was because he wasn't completely accustomed to displaying affection in any way, not even with Tsuzuki. He knew that he wasn't the most open of people, and given the choice, he was more apt to spend his time in silent brooding than in conversation. If words were hard for him, touches were even more of a challenge. 

            He didn't know the meaning of touches, did not know if a brush against the forehead was supposed to signify concern or something else, and he found it strangely fascinating when Tsuzuki started teaching him. Sometimes it was just a simple gesture of pushing back the stray strands of hair from his forehead, and Tsuzuki would laugh in their minds and told him that it meant care and affection. If it was the outwardly unintentional grasping of hands, he would be told that it symbolized a strong liking. 

            Sometimes, but very rarely, those touches would be something more. At times it would be in the way of a goodnight kiss on the forehead, or even the quick brush of lips. It was always fast, and it had no other purpose than that of showing love. 

            Tsuzuki was always straightforward and naïve when it came to displaying his emotions, and he had an innocent air around him that put Hisoka at ease. Slowly, yet inexorably, he opened a new world to Hisoka's eyes, and that world had everything his own world lacked.

            Tsuzuki was many things, but among those things, he was also a teacher. 

            He became Hisoka's teacher, and Hisoka knew that even within the short span of time after they first met, he had already taught him more than he had learned in his sixteen years of life. 

            Knowledge was always judged by its usefulness, and the knowledge that Tsuzuki gave him turned out to be what he needed most, so he felt that Tsuzuki was the most important teacher he ever had—or perhaps he could name Tsuzuki his one and only teacher, because no one else could teach him what Tsuzuki had. 

            Tsuzuki caught his hand as it withdrew and held it against his cheek. Neither said anything, but the silence itself was already enough to ask more than needed. The curses were intended to bring pain, and Tsuzuki knew the depth of its effects almost as well as Hisoka himself. Anybody else would have asked if he was all right, if he still hurt, but Tsuzuki didn't, because he knew everything.

            So it was always this way, just silent concern without words, because this was a time when both of them did not know what words to say, when both were afraid that any word spoken would ruin that delicate balance; that balance between blatant denial and admittance. 

            He did not know what Tsuzuki was to him, because Tsuzuki seemed to be everything. He was a parent, an elder sibling, a friend, a partner, a mentor…

            …and much, much more.

            How could one single person play every single role in his life?

            Was it right for him to need Tsuzuki for everything?   

            A small voice in his mind would always whisper that what he was doing was wrong, that it was foolish to entrust everything he had in one person, but he couldn't bring himself to care anymore. 

            If finding the one person in the world who loved him was wrong, he didn't know what was right anymore. 

            There were times when his mind would stray to idle fantasies, where he wondered what would happen if that fateful night hadn't happened, if he hadn't died…

            …hadn't met Tsuzuki.

            There were so many possibilities, and he could never judge which was the most likely to happen. But he did know…

            If he hadn't died, he wouldn't be as happy.

            Maybe happy wasn't exactly the correct word to use, since they were still a long way from achieving happiness, but he did know that he would never be as…

            …as satisfied.

            If he laid his head on Tsuzuki's chest, he could hear the soft beating of the other's heart; feel the steady rise and fall of his chest. And he marveled at the life that Tsuzuki possessed.

            _// Why…what…//_

            Why did he trust Tsuzuki so, and what was Tsuzuki to him?

            Everything. Tsuzuki was everything to him, because he had no one else. 

            He trusted him, because…

            He loved him, loved him in a way he never felt for anyone else, loved him so that he would willing give everything he had to this one person.

            Raising his head a little, he gently pressed a soft kiss on Tsuzuki's forehead, mimicking the same gesture that Tsuzuki always used on him. Faint surprise registered in the tender presence in his mind that was Tsuzuki, and he found the almost childish glee the other felt amusing. What he had just done…it was something he had never done before.

            He didn't know that Tsuzuki would like something like that so much.

            Tsuzuki smiled, and softly whispered, "Good night." And he returned the kiss.

            _// Good night. //_

Just like that, and it was everything to them.

            And Hisoka was content.

***

_-- Feedback, of course, is extremely appreciated. Praise would be nice, but criticisms would be worshipped. (bows deeply) And this is totally random, but I would be very happy if you wished me luck in my exams as well (I know I'm insane, but I'm **very **in need of encouragement right now)._


	2. Chapter One

_Chapter One_

He gently trailed his fingers through strands of wheat-coloured hair, taking care not to wake the person beside him. Slowly, gradually, he found himself absorbed in studying the slight frown between the blonde eyebrows, and he idly wondered what Hisoka was dreaming about. 

            It wasn't a bad dream because he could feel no fear from Hisoka. But it wasn't exactly some sweet fantasy either because there wasn't any contentment or joy. There was only irritation and annoyance, and what one would call gentle frustration and resignation--but no fear, no happiness. He smiled slightly; maybe Hisoka was yelling at him to get his work done. 

            It was only an ordinary dream, and he liked it; liked it that Hisoka would find the repetitive life they led significant enough to dream about. It was said that dreams were a reflection of reality, and what a person dreamt about was what that touched his heart. It need not be joyous, nor need it even be pleasant. 

            It was what Hisoka dreamed, and that made it precious, even if Hisoka might not recall his dream on the morrow.

            But people had nightmares too. Hisoka did, and so did he. He could not remember every dream of his, but a nightmare would always remain fresh in his mind in the morning, as vivid as what he had experienced in the night. Why was it that people remembered nightmares while forgetting other dreams? Weren't all dreams of the same importance? Was it because fear left more of an impression? Was it because the pain would always leave a scar?  

            Why did Hisoka have nightmares? Was…was it because Hisoka wasn't happy?

            It hurt, but it was the truth. No one could be truly happy with what they both had. Even if they could lie to themselves and say that it was enough, it wasn't.   
            Ephemeral happiness was no more than what it actually was—a figment of the mind, an illusion. He would come so close to convincing himself that he was satisfied…only to have his hopes crushed by the surge of worries that always invaded his mind. 

            It was never enough.

            Was he being selfish?

            He should never have coaxed Hisoka to open up, should never have _forced _the boy to do so. And he knew that was what he had done. It wasn't persuasion, or even urging. It was something done by pure force, done by means of tempting Hisoka with promises of protection and love, things that Hisoka had never experienced before. 

            And those were exactly what he had offered, but couldn't give.  

            Why he had done it, he did not know. He just wanted somebody to stay, to not leave…

            And now he had found that someone, he wished he hadn't made that someone stay. But he was weak, and he couldn't make that person leave. Couldn't say that he hated him, couldn't bring himself to mouth the words that would push that person away.

            Instead, he brought Hisoka closer. 

            He wondered if it was meant to be this way, since the first time they met, that eventually everything would lead to this. Them together. Like this. 

            It happened so naturally. All it needed was a minute gesture of comfort, a casual question of concern, a helping hand offered in the dark…and they were where they were today. 

            Just that, and it was enough to make Hisoka cry and tell him that he would die to be with him.

            There was someone who would die for him. Someone who would give him what he never deserved. 

            He should have been alone. But if he was…would it mean leaving Hisoka by himself? He could never forget the expression in the other's eyes during the first few months of their partnership—so harsh, cold, impassive, it was as if Hisoka no longer cared about the world around him. 

            If he hadn't done what he had, Hisoka would still be that--detached and living in self-imposed isolation. Hisoka would be all alone. 

            And Hisoka would be better off. Hisoka would never cry, and he would never get hurt. 

            He wouldn't be dying.

            He could see it in Hisoka's eyes; could _feel_ it. If it weren't for him, Hisoka would never want to live through three years of mindless torture. 

            Hisoka wanted a quick, painless death. And he was denied it because of him. 

            Hisoka called him an idiot for thinking that it was his fault, even going as far as to call him a masochist for assuming that he was doing it because of him. Hisoka said that he chose to go on living because as long as he did, he had hope. Because this existence was what he wanted. 

            Did they really dare hope?

            He wanted to. And Hisoka said it was all right to hope.

            But this would never have happened if it wasn't for him.

            _You never were the type for philosophy._

            He never told Hisoka that the philosophical mind-debates increased with his presence. 

            Like now. Just looking at Hisoka made all the questions buried in some dark corner surface unconsciously.

            Hisoka said being with him made him happy, but he knew that it wasn't the truth. But it wasn't exactly a lie either, because he wasn't sure that Hisoka would be happier if they hadn't met. He simply knew that Hisoka would be _safer_. 

            It just…it just wasn't _justified_—keeping a person by his side and telling himself that it was that person wanted; it was selfishness.

            He had already reached the point where he couldn't tell if his every action was right or wrong. 

            His mind was just so tired, so worried, so _afraid_; so scared that fear almost became his only feeling.

            Sleep didn't come at all that night; it hardly did anymore

            Even without sleep, nightmares haunted him.

            Let them come. It was all he had ever deserved anyway.

            But why did he still ache for more?

***

            Tsuzuki opened his eyes as the weight beside him stirred. 

            "Mmm, Hisoka?" He hadn't realized it was morning already, even if he didn't do anything but lie there with his eyes closed. 

            Curious green eyes peeked at him. 

            "You haven't slept again," Hisoka accused. 

            He chose to ignore that statement, because he couldn't deny it. 

            Hisoka glared at him but dropped the subject, although he could hear faint mutters about a supposed idiot in a tone that was obviously meant to be heard. 

            He laughed and pulled Hisoka closer, burying his face in the boy's chest. 

            "You're a little too young to mother me," he said mischievously, "So you might as well give up on it."

            Hisoka snorted. "No one's too young to mother you, because you're an idiot with the intellect of a three-year-old." There was an ominous pause.

            "Tsuzuki, are you thinking of me as a…" 

            "No!" Tsuzuki groaned inwardly. Hisoka was _so_ sensitive when it came to this. 

            "I'm not a child!"

            "Never said you were," he protested. Pushing himself up so that his hands were on each side of the other's waist, he caught Hisoka's eyes. "You're not, and I would never think of you as one." That said, he let his head fall back to rest on Hisoka's chest. "Not a child…"

            Hisoka didn't answer, and they stayed there in silence, but it was far from uncomfortable. He could have left it at that, but the words came tumbling out from his mouth, the need to have that reassurance making him ask all those unnecessary questions.

            "Hisoka…"

            "Yes?" Hisoka's voice was drowsy, almost as if he was already drifting back to sleep.

            "Can I stay with you?" Silence.

            "Yes."

            "Always?" Why was he asking this? It was too much, too painful. He shouldn't have asked that; it hurt Hisoka, did nothing but remind them of what lay ahead, only brought back the fear and dread of death and something worse.

            But he asked it anyway, being the selfish person that he was, because he was so afraid.

            "Aa." _// Yes. //_ Hisoka's voice was soft, and strangely, he felt no fear, no pain. He looked up, and he saw determination in his partner's eyes. 

            "Always." Hisoka reached out for his hand, and he felt nothing but warmth and comfort.

            "Promise?" he asked timidly. It was an irrational question, almost foolish. He was acting like a child who was asking for what he knew he would never get. Hisoka could never promise him that, and yet he was hoping that Hisoka would just say yes, would tell him again that everything would be all right. 

            "Promise." Unmistakably, there was the slightest falter in Hisoka's voice as he said that one word, the shortest break of hesitancy before Hisoka answered. 

            He laughed again, but this time the sound rang out hollowly with no hint of amusement in it.

            "You told me to never make promises freely, because I might not be able to keep them," he muttered absently. And the words froze on his lips. He didn't need to look at Hisoka's face to see the other's shame and guilt. The slight trickle of emotions that ran through the bond already told him more than needed. Biting his tongue painfully, he searched desperately for a way to distract Hisoka, almost frantic at the reaction he had caused with one single sentence. How could he have been so thoughtless, so _cruel_?

            In the end, he did nothing, only grasping Hisoka's hand and trying to smile. "But I'll make sure you keep that promise." He meant it. This was a promise Hisoka was going to keep.

            Hisoka merely looked at him, emerald eyes unreadable, but Tsuzuki could feel the unvoiced disbelief and doubt.

            "I'm staying with you…always." And that was that. 

            Maybe it was the seriousness and gravity of those words that suddenly made Hisoka uncomfortable, or maybe it was the intensity of his feelings, for Hisoka suddenly flushed and struggled under him.

            "Get off me…off! Baka!" 

            Tsuzuki hugged the younger Shinigami firmly. "Not letting go…too comfortable…need to sleep."

            "What does that have to do with me?" Hisoka hissed, "It wasn't _my _fault that you didn't get any sleep last night!"

            He didn't let go, and it wasn't long before Hisoka realized the futility of trying to push him off and settled back down.

            "You're going to be late for work," Hisoka told him.

            "Nothing new," he murmured. Maybe sleeping wasn't as impossible as he had thought. All he had to do was think of the promise Hisoka made him; the promise that would never be broken.

            "Well, _I'm _going to be late, and for no reason at all."

            "You should try it once in a while anyway." Work was extremely unappealing to him at the moment. 

            "What!?" Hisoka asked in disbelief, "Tatsumi-san's going to give us hell!"

            He stifled a yawn and snuggled deeper into the folds of Hisoka's pajamas. Nothing was going to make him change his current position. Not even the threat of a raging Tatsumi.__

            "You're hopeless," Hisoka finally said.

            "That's why you love me?" he asked sleepily.

            "Idiot."

            Tsuzuki suddenly remembered something, and he shifted slightly so that he could now look up at the other.

            "You gave me a goodnight kiss yesterday," he said while grinning cheekily. 

            As expected, Hisoka blushed a brilliant crimson. "I…I…" he stuttered helplessly. 

            "It isn't exactly night, but since I'm only going to sleep now…maybe another one?" he suggested hopefully.

            If it was even possible, Hisoka's blush deepened. He snapped his face to the side, resolutely refusing to look at Tsuzuki.

            "In your dreams," he said dryly.

            "But you did it yesterday! Why can't you just do the same thing? Is there a difference between night and morning?" Teasing Hisoka could prove to be very entertaining, and times like this made him forget, however momentarily, the worries that haunted him. More importantly, it made Hisoka forget as well, and he wanted to free Hisoka from his fears.

            "Shut up!"

            "I don't understand…" All it always took was innocent flirting, if it could be called even that, and Hisoka would react instantly. He found it endearing, that Hisoka was so easily affected by actions like this. But then, almost everything about Hisoka fascinated him. 

            "No one's asking you to. And if you don't shut up, you can just get off." 

            "Hisoka…"

            "What?" Hisoka asked irritably.

            "Can I kiss you?" He didn't wait for Hisoka's answer but simply pushed himself up and gently pressed his lips to Hisoka's cheek. Even that innocent gesture was enough to send Hisoka blushing profusely. If he just took it a little further…

            He fleetingly brushed his lips over the other's and hurriedly lied back down. 

            Lifting a hand to Hisoka's face, he ran his fingers over the boy's skin, feeling the heat of the blood that rushed up to Hisoka's face, imagining the flush that tinged his cheeks.

            "You're so cute when you're all red," he teased.

            "Go to sleep, stupid," Hisoka answered, and the feelings in his mind told him that Hisoka was still unable to decide if he was embarrassed, irritated or just pleased.

            So like Hisoka, always thinking through everything. So adorable.

            And he fell asleep.  

***

            This time, Hisoka managed to push him off. And the boy didn't make an effort to be gentle about it.

            "Oww…" He then found himself being jostled awake. 

            "Tsuzuki! Get up already!"

            "Huh…?" He stared at the hands on the table clock that Hisoka pushed in front of him. "What!? It's already _that_ late!!?" Nine forty-five already. And he was thinking that he would never be able to sleep. Smiling softly to himself, he got out of bed and rushed though his morning preparations, but not without giving Hisoka a hug first, which only earned a quizzical look from the other. 

            By the time he was ready, Hisoka was already waiting by the door. Taking Hisoka's hand, he simply teleported them to the office, ignoring the yelp of protest from the boy.

            Any hopes of sneaking to their desks without anyone noticing were dashed when everyone in the office leapt up as they entered. 

            "Hisoka-kun!" Wakaba exclaimed, "Are you all right?" Terazuma, as usual, glowered silently at Tsuzuki, but his eyes softened ever so slightly when they fell onto Hisoka. It lasted for barely a moment, though, before he returned to wearing the scowl that was always present around Tsuzuki. 

            Watari appeared beside Tsuzuki. "Is Bon fine? I mean…nothing like _that_?" 

            "Ah…" The innocent question of concern hurt more than he thought it would. "He's fine."

            "Oh?" Wakaba asked, smiling in relief. "I was so worried."

            Hisoka fidgeted a little at the attention he was receiving, but the tenderness in his eyes betrayed his true feelings. Perhaps no one else noticed the change in his normally stoic partner, but Tsuzuki saw and felt everything. The calmness and peace in those green eyes reminded him, oddly and rather ridiculously, of a big warm blanket, the kind a person could wrap himself in, just feel the warmness that the blanket brought and nothing else. 

            It was what Hisoka brought him.

            "Then I would like to inquire the reason of your inability to appear punctually for work," a voice said from behind them, immediately drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

            Tsuzuki understood the only reason Tatsumi hadn't unleashed his wrath was the fact that he, like everyone else, was concerned over Hisoka's health. Only _that _was able to prevent Hisoka from coming in to work, and even if Hisoka claimed he was all right, people still had their doubts. 

            Because they all cared.

            He suddenly realized Tatsumi was still waiting for an answer, and Hisoka wasn't about to offer one. "We…uh…we overslept."

            The absurdity of that statement only just then occurred to him. Telling Tatsumi that they were late because they _overslept _was so bizarre that barely were the words out of his mouth when everyone else had their eyes wide in shock and disbelief. 

            Perhaps the only good thing that came out of it was that Tatsumi himself was thrown off-balance as well, and it took more than a few moments for him to recollect his impeccable composure. 

            "You overslept," he repeated slowly. 

            Tsuzuki wondered if it would be wise to agree, than decided that it might be potentially lethal. So he remained silent, desperately hoping that Hisoka would say something for a change.

            "Both of you?" Tatsumi asked incredulously.    

            Hisoka nodded, looking more than a little abashed. 

            Tatsumi stared at the two of them for one long moment. And then, to Tsuzuki's utmost surprise, he coughed uncomfortably and merely said, "Don't let me find you repeating your actions."

            A startled look at Hisoka told Tsuzuki that his partner was equally shocked. Then, little by little, a slow blush began creeping up Hisoka's cheeks. 

            "Tatsumi-san," Hisoka said weakly, "It isn't…"

            Tatsumi pushed up the rim of his glasses and cleared his throat. "It's…understandable, but I would prefer it if you didn't do this again." Hisoka's eyes widened and he looked as if he wanted to say more, but Tatsumi waved him off, his eyes holding more than a glint of knowing. Without another word, Tatsumi left for his own room, leaving Hisoka with a stunned expression on his face. 

            To say that Tsuzuki was shocked was an understatement. Perhaps dumfounded would be a more suitable adjective. Never in his life had he witnessed Tatsumi letting an unpunctual employee off without ruthlessly deducting said employee's pay, no matter what reason he was given.

            Before Tatsumi was even out of sight, Watari grabbed a chair and plunked himself beside Tsuzuki unceremoniously.

            "Wow…even Tatsumi can be understanding when it comes to this." Seeing Tsuzuki's outward confusion, he grinned and whispered conspiratorially, "Don't worry, it's bound to happen sometime." 

            Then it came, a rush of embarrassment and mortification so strong that Tsuzuki felt the heat rising in his cheeks, so intense that he turned towards Hisoka in worry. It was the first time he experienced Hisoka's discomfort directly, and whatever it was that caused such emotions, it was enough to alarm Tsuzuki.

            "Hisoka?" The blush in Hisoka's cheeks only intensified at his unasked question. 

Wakaba smiled fondly at them. "I'm so happy for you." Terazuma simply grunted and muttered something about 'people with _that _kind of inclinations'.

            "What?" Tsuzuki asked in apparent bewilderment. "You mean the two of us being late?"

            Watari chuckled. "You can say that as well." 

            "…as well?" He blinked. "What else can I say?"

            Watari simply patted him on the shoulder and winked at Hisoka, which led to another bout of blushing on Hisoka's part. 

            "No…it's not what you think," Hisoka protested feebly. "You've all misunderstood, it really wasn't…"

            "Sure…sure," Watari said indifferently before striding off to his lab, still chuckling to himself.

            Wakaba went forward and gave Hisoka a hug. "It's all right, we understand." Before Hisoka could even answer, she left the room, forcing a grumbling Terazuma out as well.

            Tsuzuki shook his head, seemingly puzzled. "Do you know what they were talking about?" he asked Hisoka.

            Hisoka gave him a long, steady glare, which Tsuzuki met with his own baffled look. Finally, Hisoka sighed and turned away. "It was nothing."

            "But…" Tsuzuki leaned forward and gazed into Hisoka's eyes, and predictably, the other's face reddened at the close proximity between them. Brushing away the stray bangs from the boy's eyes, he smiled and asked, "What did they mean?"

            "I…I don't know!" Hisoka stuttered, trying to push away his hand. 

            "What don't you know?"

            "Nothing! Just get to work and stop asking stupid questions!" 

            Tsuzuki caught Hisoka's hand and held it for a while before letting go, laughing softly at Hisoka's outraged look.

            Of course he knew, with all the subtle hints and the atypical behaviour that everyone was displaying. He just liked to pretend he didn't.

            "You could have said something just now," Hisoka complained sullenly. 

            He smiled. Hisoka knew that he understood as well. "Let them think what they want."

            "You…" Hisoka scowled.

            "Does it matter that much?" he asked softly. If it was what Hisoka wanted, he would explain everything to the others; he just felt that they would both be more comfortable if they didn't tell anyone anything about what happened between them.

            He didn't want anyone to know, because it was what only the two of them shared.

            Was he being selfish in wanting to keep things that way?

            Hisoka fiddled with his pen nervously, steadfastly refusing to meet Tsuzuki's eyes. 

            Finally…"No."

            Tentatively, a small hand reached out for his. "No. I…I wouldn't want you to say anything."

            Grasping the hand in his, he gently traced the outlines on Hisoka's palm.

            "Then it's all right." 

            It was a moment before Hisoka raised his eyes to his. The silent agreement and acceptance need not be put into words, but Hisoka nodded.

            "All right."

            Those two words…so easily said, but still he questioned again and again.

            Was it ever all right? 

***  

            Perhaps it was the slight twinge of pain at the back of his head, or it might be the steadily rising buzz of fear and apprehension that warned him, but somehow he always knew when the marks on Hisoka's body flared to life. 

            Having taken to wearing long sleeves ever since bearing the symbols of the second curse, Hisoka would never let anyone witness his vulnerability if he could help it. Like now, even while he underwent the trauma of the dark spell, Hisoka's hand still moved, his pen still tracing letters and words over the form he was filling. It was a steady denial of pain and weakness, but denial was never enough to change reality. Beads of cold sweat shone on the younger Shinigami's forehead, and the almost imperceptible tremors that began from his hands soon progressed to his entire body. And Hisoka still refused to speak a word. 

            Neither of them spoke as Tsuzuki moved to take Hisoka in his arms, forcing the trembling hand to drop the pen it was still holding. Defiant green eyes met his, but the agony their owner was going through was written clearly in them. Glazed, shaken, and in torment, yet Hisoka still would not submit. 

            Steadfast persistence, stubborn resistance, and in the end, it changed nothing. 

            He wanted to take Hisoka home, to a place where Hisoka could at least be in peace, but the painful hold on his hand stopped him. And through pain-hazed emerald, he could almost see the wordless request, could _feel _it as clearly as he felt himself.

            Hisoka wanted to stay. 

            It was always a battle between two forces, a fight between wills…and fear struck his heart when the first drop of blood became visible on Hisoka's lips. Hisoka was fighting to not cry out, biting his lips so that not even the slightest whimper of pain could escape, and he did nothing but watched. Being the helpless onlooker that he was, it was the only thing he could do. 

            If Hisoka suffered the physical torture alone, they endured the emotional ordeal together. Always…he had felt so helpless, so useless as he watched the incalculable lives that slipped away while he continued his eternal existence, but this was beyond anything he ever experienced.

            This was _Hisoka_. Hisoka was _different_.

            As the hand in his went limp and the other consciousness his mind faded, his emotions spiraled from fear to sheer panic. It was always like this, even if he knew that Hisoka still lived, he forever feared that if Hisoka's eyelids were to close, he would never ever see the green behind them again.

            Carrying the seemingly lifeless form in his arms, he blindly stumbled through the corridors of Juohcho, praying for anybody, somebody, to come forward and help. 

            Pushing the door of the laboratory open, he gasped out the only words that were in his mind. 

            "Help…Hisoka."

***

­_-- Slow, yes? I **do** try. You can now start telling me how terrible my portrayal of Tsuzuki is. _

_-- I'm looking for a beta-reader, specifically one who deals with plot and characterization. I already have one, but a few more would never hurt. Anybody, please?_


	3. Chapter Two

_-- Sorry for taking so long with this chapter, and to be honest, I feel it's terrible. I'm having a pretty bad time lately (most of it concerning my studies), so the quality of my writing…let's say it's most unsatisfactory.   
--The next chapter might not be till December, because I'm preparing for a major examination in November, and for the moment, I'm gradually losing the enthusiasm I used to have for writing. Once again, sorry._

_Chapter 2_

            Having one's door banging open in the middle of the afternoon was hardly surprising. After all, his door collapsed at least once a day, be it from the unexpected results of some chemical reaction or the unfortunate outcome of some newly invented machinery. 

            Seeing Tsuzuki stumbling in with Hisoka in his arms, however, was not a normal event in Watari's life. Add in the fact that Tsuzuki seemed to be having a nervous breakdown, it was a situation that could be correctly deemed alarming. Any other person would have panicked, and not without reason, but Watari prided himself in being a professional scientist, and saw everything, even nasty surprises, as an opportunity to acquire knowledge, not as a cause for panic.

            So he somehow ushered Tsuzuki to the infirmary, all the while exuding perfect calm and confidence. Running the usual tests over Hisoka was almost a reflex. He did not need to roll up the boy's sleeves to know that the curses would once more be visible. In truth, there was nothing new to discover, except that Hisoka's condition had deteriorated in a way he could not fathom. He had to give it to Muraki—psychotic the man might be, but he surely had an IQ that far outstripped an ordinary human's. In a different world and place, Watari would have given anything to study with the doctor. Even knowing the man for what he was, it was hard to suppress a grudging worm of respect that twisted its way through his heart. 

            Tsuzuki hovered anxiously by Hisoka's side like some worried parent, and the question in his eyes was more than obvious when Watari finally pulled the covers over the boy. It took only a silent shake of his head to inform Tsuzuki of the Hisoka's condition, and to his surprise, the elder Shinigami seemed to take it calmly, merely settling back beside the bed to watch his young partner, eyes devoid of even the slightest flicker of emotion. It was all a complete contrast to the panic he had displayed a while ago, and Watari could not help but wonder at his sudden change of mood. 

            Watching Tsuzuki and Hisoka was like watching people who had already lost the ability to hope. Watari could not help feeling a rush of sympathy, although it might not be wise to let them know, as he guess the sentiments would not be welcome. So he kept silent, and the only sound that could be heard in the room being the occasional rustling of 003's wings. Even the owl had seemingly caught on to the bleakness in the air, for she was exceptionally quiet today. The silence was making Watari feel distinctly uncomfortable--he might as well not be here, and the feeling of intruding on something private was very strong.

            It wasn't that Muraki's curse hadn't flared up before, but it happened so rarely in public that perhaps no one but Watari knew of it. Before, it seemed that Tsuzuki was able to pull Hisoka through without assistance, and the calls for help were mostly for confirmation that Hisoka was all right. Watari did not know what had aroused the fear and panic in Tsuzuki just now, but he highly suspected it had something to do with some strange aspect of the curse, something Tsuzuki and maybe Hisoka were holding back from him. 

            Tsuzuki turned and saw Watari watching them, and the corners of his lips curved up into a small, tired smile. It was obviously an effort on Tsuzuki's part, but even so, Watari admired the lengths he went to maintain a cheerful front. He doubted he would ever understand the workings of Tsuzuki's mind. Simple though the man might seem from the surface, past events had long shown that Tsuzuki was an entirely different person from what he showed to the world. 

            The look in Tsuzuki's eyes while he gazed at Hisoka now displayed pure, unadulterated concern, and certainly affection, but Watari could see nothing more. Yet the way he seated himself, the way he pulled the covers higher over Bon—those actions spoke of a certain kind of familiarity, a quiet intimacy. Watari wouldn't make any claims on being an expert in the workings of the human mind, but he was almost sure that the feelings between those two ran beyond friendship. How far it actually ran, though, was a point that was open to debate. Despite everybody's endless speculations and jests, only Tsuzuki and Hisoka knew the truth, and whatever they knew, it was certainly private. 

            "Isn't there anything we can do?" Tsuzuki's sudden question jerked Watari from his reverie. It wasn't so much the question as the tone of the other man's voice that worried him. It was, after all, a question that Tsuzuki had asked many times, in many different ways. But this time, it was the sheer despair and desperation in Tsuzuki's voice, making the question sound more of a plea than anything else, that really got Watari worrying. If Tsuzuki broke now…

            "You could stay with him," Watari said as matter-of-factly as he could, but even as he said it, he knew he had failed miserably in offering reassurance. 

            "It won't stop him dying," Tsuzuki answered, his voice suddenly cold and dispassionate. Watari doubted it was because of lack of emotions on Tsuzuki's part. Tsuzuki was probably experiencing so many at a time that his mind was already numb. 

            "You care a lot for him, don't you?" Watari asked suddenly. 

            "Of course." The answer came automatically without thought, and it sounded vaguely defensive, as if Watari had asked something that was already obvious.

            "You misunderstand, we all love Bon as a friend and younger brother, but perhaps you love him in a different way…?"  

            Tsuzuki stared at him steadily for a moment, then he turned his attention back to Bon, idly pushing back the stubborn strands that strayed across the boy's face. Watari waited; but the answer never came. 

            "He's going to leave me, isn't he?" The words were soft and plaintive. He sounded so weary, a despondent soul that could no longer bear the burdens of living. 

            "Not if you don't want him to," Watari answered.                                    

            "That's a lie," Tsuzuki said flatly. "My wish has nothing to do with it." 

            "If there was a way to save him…"

            "I'll do anything!" Tsuzuki's eyes burned with something almost akin to anger—anger at Watari for even mentioning the subject. "Even…" His voice broke. "Even if it fails in the end, I'll know that I've tried. Whatever it is…" he swallowed, "_I _want to save him, I want to know that at least _I_ did something."

            His gaze softened as the anger ebbed away. "I just don't want…"                     

            Whatever it was Tsuzuki didn't want, Watari never knew, since Tsuzuki abruptly silenced himself, as if he had just discovered himself revealing too much. The look in the eyes said that Tsuzuki didn't want to continue the conversation, and Watari chose not to question him further.

            _"You care a lot for him, don't you?" _Watari sighed. Tsuzuki hadn't needed to answer him at all. 

            "I'm leaving, so if you just stayed here…" Tsuzuki nodded absently without looking up.

            As Watari closed the door behind him, he cast one last look over his shoulder. 

            Looking at Tsuzuki and Hisoka—strangely, among the multitude of emotions within him, only one rose above all. 

            _Pity_. 

***

            Watari wondered why on earth there would an emergency meeting held at a time like this. For one, _he _had more pressing matters to see to then meetings, and… Watari noticed Tatsumi shooting a death-glare at him and decided that it might be wise to pay some attention.

            "Where is Tsuzuki-san and Kurosaki-kun?" Tatsumi demanded. 

            "Infirmary," Watari replied, and 003 chirped confirmation. 

            Tatsumi evinced no outward reaction at this statement. Adjusting his glasses one hand, he passed Watari a file with the other. Watari felt that for Tatsumi, wearing glasses probably proved extremely convenient. He did not know if many people knew of it, but he noticed when Tatsumi was disconcerted, his hand automatically reached toward his glasses on some pretense of straightening them. 

            Tatsumi knew. They all did; and they could do nothing.

            Watari snorted derisively and opened his file. And stared. And stared even longer. 

            "You've…you've found…?" Eloquence seemed beyond him at the moment, but Konoe and Tatsumi understood his question. 

            "I think it's less a case of us finding him than him _wanting _us to find him," Tatsumi said dryly. 

            _// Of course. Isn't that the case every time? // _However, Watari wisely decided against voicing his thoughts.

            "Still, we should tell Tsuzuki and Bon straight away, he's probably the only one who knows how to…" He trailed off under Tatsumi's steely-eyed gaze.

            "What?" Now why did he sound so defensive? "It's true. They should know about this."

            Tatsumi and Konoe exchanged significant looks—looks that obviously said that they believed that Watari Yutaka had finally suffered one too many explosions. Tatsumi cleared his throat, the glint in his eyes menacing as he finally spoke.

            "I forbid you to even mention this matter in front of Tsuzuki-san and Kurosaki-kun, understood?" 

            Watari stared at them in disbelief. "How could I do that?" he demanded. "Granted, it's Muraki, psychotic doctor and all, but you know perfectly well that we're stumped. At least, _I _admit I don't have a clue on how to solve the goddamn curse. We might as well try and wring the answer out of our good friend than simply sit around waiting for you-know-what. It's not like we _have_ a choice." 

            "Watari-san, nowhere did I say that we would not seek him out," Tatsumi said coldly. Watari froze, his mouth hanging open in the midst of launching yet another tirade. "I merely ordered you to keep this information to yourself."

            Konoe rubbed his temples. " We were thinking of sending other Shinigami to handle this. At least, it's a way of ensuring that _they _are safe." He sighed. "No point of walking right into the trap, is there?"

            Watari didn't reply to that. Yes, it was all definitely some elaborate scheme of Muraki's, but Tsuzuki's words kept echoing in his mind, the intensity of the elder Shinigami's voice still remembered with perfect clarity.       

            _"Even if it fails in the end, I'll know that I've tried. Whatever it is…"_

_"**I** want to save him, I want to know that at least **I** did something."_

It was quite a while before Watari suddenly realized that Tatsumi and Konoe's attention were still focused on him. 

 "I…I still think we should tell them," he said finally. He didn't care if Tatsumi and Konoe agreed to it or not, _he _was definitely going to tell Tsuzuki about this. Perhaps he might regret it, but he knew for a certainty that he would never forgive himself if he were the one who kept it from them.

His companions, however, were of an entirely different opinion. 

"Don't be rash, Watari-san, it would only endanger them, and bring them right into Muraki's clutches."

"Exactly, just let us handle it, there's no difference, really…"

Perfect logic. Don't let them go, they're Muraki's targets, don't give him what he wants…except for that one small matter which they'd been steadfastly ignoring. "Muraki's far from stupid. Surely you don't think he'll stand there waiting for _us _to swoop down on him. He teleported himself right into Meifu and walked out unscathed, for Enma's sake!"

"Your reasoning is flawless, Watari-san," Tatsumi said, but the look in his eyes told Watari he didn't appreciate it. "But surely you do not expect Juohcho to send its workers into a situation that would certainly place their lives in danger, do you?"

"But Bon's going to die anyway," Watari said flatly. "And Tsuzuki's extremely unpredictable. Who knows what he might think of next?" Indeed, the last time Tsuzuki spent too much thinking, all those feelings of grief and guilt had finally caught up and ended Tsuzuki in Touda's flames—the epitome of unpredictability. 

His announcement was greeted by silence.

Watari didn't need to ask to know that he had already won the argument.

***

Three hours already. Tsuzuki sighed and settled back into a semi-comfortable position. Hisoka still hasn't woken yet, not that he expected him to, not yet. Idly, Tsuzuki took Hisoka's hand in his, feeling the warmth that seeped through, immersing himself in whatever emotions that Hisoka felt via their bond. It was strangely comforting, and he found himself slowly sinking into a doze, his eyelids getting heavier…

"Oi, Tsuzuki!" Tsuzuki jerked awake to see two pairs of eyes looking down at him. He blinked blearily; he must have fallen asleep.

Watari grinned. "Aww…sweet," he commented. 003 hooted softly in agreement. 

Tsuzuki followed Watari's gaze. He clutched Hisoka's hand even more protectively, feeling the warmth that suffused their connection with the touch, allowing himself to be comforted by that familiar presence…even if he might not deserve it. 

"Good…" he checked his watch, "…evening, Watari." 

            Watari waved it off. "Whatever." Then the scientist's _expression suddenly turned serious. "Eh…the meeting just now, you know…" He paused. Tsuzuki looked at him expectantly. 

            "Yes?" he prompted when Watari didn't continue. Hisoka stirred slightly, but remained asleep.

            "We know where Muraki is," Watari said, his gaze intent as he studied Tsuzuki. 

            Tsuzuki felt as if something was lacking. For an announcement that was supposedly life-changing, he suspected his reaction was surprisingly flat. From the look on Watari's face, he obviously had the same opinion.   

            Tsuzuki met Watari's gaze evenly. The air in the room seemed to crackle from sheer anticipation, and Watari looked as if he was about to burst, but Tsuzuki felt nothing.

            He wondered if he was still capable of emotions. Maybe he should start hoping, now that a seemingly new path was laid before them, but he couldn't. Perhaps there was a small part in his mind that silently prepared him for the confrontation; perhaps he had unconsciously known that this had always been the only way. Whatever it was, try as he might, he could not hope.

            He was afraid, terribly so.

            A conscience in the back of his mind stirred, and he turned back to Hisoka. Hisoka was awake, although the boy's eyes remained closed. 

            "Tsuzuki?" Watari asked tentatively, "Are you all right?"

            Tsuzuki nodded almost automatically. How many times had people asked him that? He wondered why they even bothered. Surely they didn't expect him to say no, he wasn't all right and he might find himself breaking any moment. 

            "Uh…you know, you told me that you would do anything…" Watari continued awkwardly. "I didn't think that something like this should be kept from you…"

            Tsuzuki's head snapped up, anger flaring irrationally in his mind. They were thinking of keeping this from him? Watari flinched at the look on his face.

            "Yeah, I told them so…"

            "I'm leaving as soon as I can," Tsuzuki said firmly. "We are…aren't we, Hisoka?" He saw Watari's mouth fall open at the corners of his eyes.

            Hisoka finally opened his eyes and sat up. "We…" he muttered, "You don't really have to come along."

            Tsuzuki stared at him incredulously. "_What_!!?? You'll get into all kinds of trouble if left alone!"

            Hisoka bristled visibly. "Looks _who's_ talking. _You_ are the one who messes up every time!"

            Watari remained standing, looking at each of them in turn, his presence momentarily ignored.  

            Tsuzuki frowned at Hisoka's retort, pondering the truth in it. Then he smiled. "We can keep each other out of trouble!"

            Hisoka rolled his eyes and gave a long-suffering sigh. "Baka."

            Watari's mouth was still hanging open. "Both of you seem terribly calm about this," he said.

            Tsuzuki exchanged a look with Hisoka. Calm? They were far from it. But sometimes, the fear could become so strong that you were no longer aware of what you were experiencing. 

            After all, they no longer dared hope, and without hope, one did not fear failure.

***

            Hisoka stood aside in silence as Tsuzuki did some last minute planning with Tatsumi. Everything seemed to be passing so quickly that he felt as if he were watching his life being fast-forwarded. One moment they were still discussing Muraki's whereabouts, the next he found himself saying farewells. There were only the four of them now—Tsuzuki, him, Watari, and Tatsumi. 

            Tatsumi and Watari had wanted to come along, but Tsuzuki had pointed out that there wasn't any reason for them to. What could they do? Beat the hell out of Muraki until he consented to nullify the curse? Offer extra protection? 

            Besides, Enmadaioh would sense something was up if four Shinigami disappeared without notice, and they were all going to be in deep trouble when they get back…_if_ Hisoka managed to return. 

            Tatsumi had admitted reluctantly that the authorities would never agree to such a mission. Someone had to cover up their absence, and it was all up to Tatsumi and Konoe to buy them as much time as they could. Shinigami were bound to their duties by strictly enforced rules, and Tsuzuki even more so. Their powers weren't supposed to be used for personal gain, and none of the four of them thought this was such a case. Nobody, that is, except Enmadaioh himself.   

            _"But we're all going to jump in to the rescue if you ever need it,"_ Watari had told them.****

            Hisoka didn't know what to make of it. They were all risking everything for him. If Enmadaioh ever found out about this, everyone who knew where they were would be in trouble as well. 

            He wasn't worth it. He told them so, but they would never listen. 

            He watched the stern blue in Tatsumi's eyes soften as he listened to Tsuzuki, noting that the strict features of the fearful secretary of Juohcho could have belonged to a different person altogether. And through his empathy, Hisoka could feel strong mental shields weaken and the feelings that were usually buried deeply rise to the surface. 

            And Tatsumi did something unexpected. He stood up and hugged the purple-eyed Shinigami, saying something that only Tsuzuki alone could hear. 

            Tsuzuki's eyes were unnaturally bright, and as he returned Tatsumi's hug, Hisoka could see the sheen of tears that glistened at the corners of his eyes. 

            The question of whether he should be jealous over the relationship of the two elder men never even occurred to Hisoka. What Tatsumi shared with Tsuzuki was entirely different from what he had with Tsuzuki. Tatsumi loved Tsuzuki, and Tsuzuki loved Tatsumi in return, but there were many layers and concepts of love, and the love Tsuzuki had for Tatsumi was different from what he had given Hisoka. Different, but it didn't mean that it wasn't as precious. And Hisoka knew that Tatsumi understood that, even if it might not be what he wanted. 

            Hisoka supposed that no matter what kind of love it was, the basic idea of it would be the same—to make the person you loved happy, and that in itself made any kind of love precious. 

            Tsuzuki finally released Tatsumi, and the secretary brushed away Tsuzuki's tears, muttering something about Tsuzuki forever being a child. Then he came over and took Hisoka aside.

            "Thank you…for doing what I could not," Tatsumi said quietly.

            Hisoka looked up into the blue eyes—now soft and strangely gentle. As he looked at Tatsumi, Hisoka couldn't help wondering about himself. Did Tsuzuki make him change like that as well? In Tatsumi, he felt the change was…wonderful. And he didn't understand why Tatsumi was thanking him.

            "Tatsumi-san…thank you for telling me to stay with him." _// Thank you. //_

            Tatsumi shook his head. "You would have done so even if I hadn't told you to." He smiled. "This might not be the time…but I…wish you every happiness together."

            And so that was love—to only hope that the person you loved was happy. 

            "Kurosaki-kun, make sure you live…for him." 

            Hisoka nodded. Live…for Tsuzuki. He had always thought that a person should live for themselves and never for others; lovers' sentiments of dying for each other had always been regarded by him as foolish and childish. Your life was your own, and it should belong to you and no one else. Only when he met Tsuzuki had he realized the meaning of it. It wasn't so much as living for a person as living for each other; it wasn't so much as making somebody happy as bringing each other happiness. Tsuzuki had lived for him, and now he wanted to live for Tsuzuki. Such were things between them, and having finally discovered the _completion_ of being there for each other, he never wanted to give it up.

            "Just remember," Tatsumi said, and Hisoka turned to see Tsuzuki walking towards them.

            "You'll have to leave now," Tatsumi said, "Before they find out, or you'll never have a second chance."

            Tsuzuki nodded and took Hisoka's hand. Time was never on their side, and if their exploit was discovered…

            Again, Hisoka couldn't help thinking how wonderful it was for him to have met his true friends in his afterlife. By covering for them, Tatsumi, Watari, and Konoe-Kachou put themselves at risk as well. It was all worth it, they said; for his life, it was all worth it.

            "You really have to go…" Tatsumi wiped away the last traces of tears from Tsuzuki's eyes. "Take care of each other."

            _Take care of each other…I wish you every happiness together. _Different words that carried the same meaning.

            _// Thank you, Tatsumi-san. //_

            "Come back _alive_, Bon. I don't care, but both of you must come back. And don't forget you still owe me three thousand yen, Tsuzuki." 003 flapped its wings almost sorrowfully.

            _// And thank you…Watari-san.  //_

They were fading, they were all waving…

            His eyes were stinging. He was _not _going to cry like some small child. He was _not_.

            He wondered if he would ever see them again.

***__


	4. Chapter 3

_--I know it's been months since my last update, and I'm blaming it all on exams and college. Hereafter, updates will be faster…not, due to various reasons. I bow my head in shame. As always, reviews would make me absurdly happy, but I have to admit that they won't be able to make me write any faster (I **want **to, but I simply can't), and I would keep writing regardless of the number of reviews I get. So even if it seems I'll be abandoning this fic forever, I'm really not, it's just that I don't have the time. Updates will be sporadic, though I'll try my very, **very** best to churn out a measly chapter every three or four months._

_Chapter 3_

Hisoka pressed his forehead against the cool glass, watching as the scenery whizzed past in a blur of colours. It was already late autumn, without the beautiful reds and golds that were usually associated with the season. All that remained was the austere heath, and the few solitary trees that kept their foliage throughout the year.    

Autumn was said to be beautiful, yet Hisoka felt it had never been more desolate. 

"I still think this is unnecessary," he muttered. Of course it was. No point in taking the train, no point in acting like normal people. Muraki already knew they were coming; there was simply no reason in subtlety. 

"We might have the advantage of the element of surprise if we did it this way…" Tsuzuki trailed off. Muraki could never be caught unawares, not this way. "At least he wouldn't know exactly _when we'll be arriving, not like if we teleported straight there. He could have felt us that way," he finished feebly._

Hisoka rolled his eyes before turning to look out of the window again.

"Besides, I need the time," Tsuzuki said softly, and there was a note of despair to his voice, the hidden plea in it painfully obvious.

"We don't have…" At the look in Tsuzuki's eyes, Hisoka couldn't bring himself to say it. Foolish, he knew. Tsuzuki was foolishly avoiding the truth, and he even more so, for allowing him that illusion.

"Whatever," he muttered. _We don't have time. _Strangely, he hadn't felt more relieved. Calm, even. Everything was coming to an end. No more long nights of worry, no more having to face the looks of sympathy from the people around him, no need to pretend anymore.

"Don't you just want all of this to end?" he asked absently. Didn't Tsuzuki feel the same? The shock he felt emanating through their bond at his words was alarming. For a while, Hisoka wondered what was wrong with such a seemingly innocent question. He slowly ran the words back in his mind.

_"Don't you just want all of this to end?" _ On second thought, that sounded like…but surely Tsuzuki wasn't stupid enough to actually think…

"Tsuzuki, you idiot," he snapped, jerking his head back to face his partner. "Surely you don't think I have suicidal notions. That's _your department." Tsuzuki at least had the grace to look abashed, although he looked decidedly offended at the last statement._

"Well, you have to admit that you _sounded like you did," Tsuzuki retorted defensively. _

"To you, maybe," Hisoka said acidly. 

"You're always grumpier when you're worrying over something," Tsuzuki muttered darkly, downing the entire cup of tea before him in one gulp.

"I am_ not _worried, not right this moment anyway. I'm grumpy because it's within my nature to be so, especially when I have to put up with…" Hisoka scowled when he saw Tsuzuki grin at him triumphantly, eyes crinkled in mirth.

"Very funny," he grumbled, turning back to the window as he fought to keep the corners of his mouth from twitching.

"Feel better?" Tsuzuki asked.

"No." Hisoka blinked when strong hands cupped his face and turned him towards violet eyes that were still twinkling mischievously. 

"Ha." Tsuzuki looked so smug that Hisoka was almost tempted to smack him. Almost. "You're smiling."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am _not_." Hisoka realized that they might well go on forever if he didn't put a stop to this. "And quit fooling around already." 

Tsuzuki pursed his lips comically. "Spoilsport." He tilted his head to the side and studied Hisoka thoughtfully. "But seriously, are you alright?"

Hisoka sighed. "What I actually meant just now was that after this, we don't need to…worry anymore," he glared at Tsuzuki, daring him to make fun of him over that, but Tsuzuki wisely remained silent, "or see everybody wear those pitying smiles…"

_Or feel the pain, the fear, the despair._

"One way or another, it's all going to end." Hisoka waited, watching hopefully as Tsuzuki traced some unintelligible character on his knee with his forefinger. Tsuzuki resolutely refused to look at him, and dipped his finger into the teacup, wetting his finger with the moisture from the still-damp tea leaves, then tracing the strokes again. This time, the bold and graceful character surfaced, the kanji rapidly blurring as the soft material of Tsuzuki's pants absorbed the moisture greedily.

_Courage.___

When the character finally disappeared, leaving only the slightly creased patch of cloth as a sign of its existence, Tsuzuki looked up. "Aren't you afraid? What if…?"

"There has never been 'what-ifs,' Tsuzuki," Hisoka said firmly, "Not for me, not for us. Never."

"I can't allow myself to fail this time," he continued, hoping he sounded confident enough, or at least was able to convince Tsuzuki of what he himself did not fully believe. 

Tsuzuki smiled, a heartfelt smile of such sincerity that it made Hisoka catch his breath as a slow flush started to rise in his cheeks. 

"Hisoka," Tsuzuki said softly, "You…well…" He looked down at the crumpled patch on his pants and tried to smooth out the wrinkles by stretching the cloth. "I suppose you won't need this anymore." 

"Unlike me," he added so quietly that it was obviously not meant to be heard.

_But I do._ Hisoka wanted to tell Tsuzuki that, but knew he mustn't, couldn't. Tsuzuki needed the reassurance, the comfort; he needed something to place his faith in. Hisoka couldn't take that away from him, else Tsuzuki might break and reveal the lost, despondent soul that no longer had anything to live for. 

"You know that won't work," he told Tsuzuki, who was still pressing the wrinkled cloth with his palms. _Leave it. I need it. _

"Um," Tsuzuki looked up, "it doesn't matter anyway." Hisoka nodded, and pressed his face to the window again. Only this time, a single reddish brown leaf had plastered itself to the clear glass pane. Hisoka rapped his knuckle sharply against the window, trying to dislodge the leaf. The leaf shuddered with the force of his rap, but stubbornly refused to fall.

"What are you doing?" Tsuzuki asked curiously.

"It's obscuring the view," Hisoka answered irritably.

"The view?" Tsuzuki asked, and Hisoka understood his perplexity. The barren trees, the stark lands, the grey skies…there was no beauty in the world they lived in right now.

But he loved it anyway.

"Yes, the view." The leaf remained where it was, lines of crimson and gold crisscrossing in magnificent and intricate designs. Hisoka sighed and leaned back, silently admiring one of the few objects that retained its beauty in this bleak autumn.

"It's pretty," Tsuzuki commented suddenly.

"Aa." Hisoka knew Tsuzuki wasn't referring to the scenery outside.

"Thank you." Hisoka looked at Tsuzuki in surprise. Surely he couldn't know…surely Tsuzuki didn't know that he had been lying to him, surely Tsuzuki wouldn't know that he had been hiding his own fears to protect him.

"But I really think…" A warm hand, rough with the years it's seen and much larger than his own squeezed his hand comfortingly.

"I really think you are brave."

***

Hisoka was jolted awake was the train slowed to stop. Passengers were already chattering animatedly—mothers chiding their children from being too slow, people commenting on their eagerness to finally get onto firm ground…He nudged Tsuzuki, who didn't even seem to notice.

"Tsuzuki?"

"I know." Tsuzuki closed his eyes for a brief moment, before turning around and smiling at him. "We have to go."

"Hold on." Hisoka pushed open the window and reached out for the dried leaf, still steadfastly adhered to the glass. It felt rough under his fingers, coarse and smelling of fresh earth and damp air. 

"As a souvenir," he said simply in answer to Tsuzuki's silent question.

***

_This is it. _ That familiar presence, dark and twisted in its essence, still unfathomable, but no longer as overwhelming to Hisoka as it had been nagged at the edges of his consciousness, beckoning, calling. 

Tsuzuki's grip on his hand tightened, almost enough to hurt, but Hisoka barely registered the touch. Adrenaline rushed through his veins; his blood was roaring in his ears, and the heat…his mind, it could no longer focus on anything else beyond living.

Life was so difficult to grasp.

"Good evening, Tsuzuki-san." Hisoka didn't even flinch; he already knew where Muraki was. The hand around his tensed ever so slightly, but Tsuzuki betrayed no other sign of his inner turmoil.

The doctor smiled--a confident, self-assured smirk that almost, but not quite, touched his eyes; one remained a lifeless, mechanical object, the other shrewd and calculating.

"A pleasant surprise, Tsuzuki-san," Muraki said amiably, extending a hand, which Tsuzuki promptly ignored. Muraki shrugged, as if it was a matter of no consequence, his smile not slipping for a second.

            "I doubt it's a surprise, Muraki," Tsuzuki answered scathingly. Hisoka could have spent years analyzing the feelings the surged through their bond; fear and determination, despair and hope, all the contradictory emotions within one mind, one man. Tsuzuki's hold on his hand was now so tight that Hisoka could feel the tips of his fingers gradually becoming numb, the uneven ends of Tsuzuki's fingernails digging painfully into his palm.

Muraki laughed. "Perhaps, Tsuzuki-san, but I was merely observing formalities, you understand." Hisoka he ignored, and Hisoka couldn't help feeling the usual flicker of resentment at the contempt so openly displayed. A mere boy, to use and throw away, of no value whatsoever.

That was what he had always been, hadn't he?

"You know what we came for, Muraki. Nullify the curse." A long time ago, Hisoka would have been surprise at how outwardly calm Tsuzuki remained, not when everything he felt told him otherwise. But Tsuzuki's will and determination, his passion in saving others, how much the man _felt_ for people, had been one of the first things he had ever learned about Tsuzuki, were what made Tsuzuki the person he knew now. 

One silver eyebrow rose in amusement. "How peculiar, to have you making demands of me, Tsuzuki-san. You seem to be forgetting your position."

Hisoka quelled the bout of anger that welled up in him. _What are we? Petitioners?_ But he remained silent. This time, he wanted Muraki to hold him in contempt.

This will be the last time he'll see that condescending, dismissive glance, that disparaging smile.

It _must _be.

"I gain nothing from doing so," Muraki lifted a hand towards Tsuzuki's face, gently tracing a path from forehead to chin. Tsuzuki slapped his hand away angrily, and Muraki made no other move. If anything, he seemed to find it entertaining, if his smile was any sign.

"You gain your life." Muraki's quizzical look of amusement quite obviously showed that he thought it an empty threat. And Hisoka thought so too, he did not think Tsuzuki was capable of killing, not for him, not yet. Perhaps in the heat of anger, when rage had made him lose all sense of control, but not now, when fear still dominated his mind; fear would always make him still his hand, keep that fearsome power in check, if nothing else.

He knew Tsuzuki was not a man to kill out of fear, and no doubt Muraki knew it as well.

Instead, Muraki turned and looked significantly at Hisoka. It was the first time the doctor acknowledged his presence. "A life for a life…how quaint, Tsuzuki-san." And suddenly, something in his tone and eyes, in the aura that he radiated made Hisoka's hair stand on end.

"I don't believe in such sayings, however." Muraki made as if to touch Tsuzuki's face again, and Tsuzuki took a single, rapid step backward. Which was actually a mistake, Hisoka knew. He could sense an almost childish glee, if it could actually be described at such coming from Muraki. Triumph at the outward display of fear.

"But you obviously do, Tsuzuki-san," he continued, his eyes gleaming with that same possessive, almost insane light Hisoka had seen in Nagasaki.

"Hence, in return for my life…" He smiled again, a lazy, predatory grin that spread across skin of unnatural pallor.

"I expect the boy to pay with his."

That was when all hell erupted.

***

He was losing something, a force in his being that slowly ebbed away. It wasn't a sudden tug, but a slow, insistent pull, the pain gradually increasing to the point where red overcame his vision and white spots of agony flickered across that brilliant crimson.

It was only after a few moments, those precious, dire moments, that Hisoka realized what was actually happening.

That bastard has somehow latched onto his soul and was slowly drawing it out. 

_Damn him, he has no hold over me. None!_

Still, he had no idea of how to hinder the attack, or even defend himself. Mind already numb from the pain and totally incapable of coherent thought, all he did was scramble futilely for whatever he had left, try to stop that slow dissipation of his spirit. Even in that haze of pain, he could somehow imagine Muraki's victorious smile, the contempt that must be in that doctor's mind. Useless boy that was always tagging along behind the stronger ones. Interfering brat.

He should have known there was more to the curse on him than the simple desire to satisfy Muraki's sadistic urges. It gave his killer leverage, gave Muraki _control._

Fury laced the edges of his pain, anger at being used like an object, being defeated repeatedly, being so _weak_ when he had sworn to be otherwise.

He had no idea where Shinigami went to after their death, and he was in no hurry to find out. He was almost certain he would never end up in Hell, but he doubted he was enough of a martyr to reside in Heaven. 

Even if he was, surely Heaven would seem empty if he were unable to quench his thirst for revenge. Death wasn't an option; it never was.

And what of Tsuzuki? His friends? 

_Wait…Tsuzuki._

With their bond, Tsuzuki was liable to experience anything Hisoka was. Anything. Already Hisoka could see the signs. The slight, almost imperceptible creases of pain around Tsuzuki's eyes, the tightening of fists

_Oh God. What was happening?_

Surely even Tsuzuki wasn't fool enough to actually allow his _soul to be torn away from his material body. For a living human, it would have been possible to continue some kind of pathetic existence if one lost his or her soul. Without a soul, the physical being could still survive as a mindless husk. For a Shinigami, who was _made_ out of soul substance, it meant final death._

Tsuzuki wasn't suicidal. He wasn't. They'd gotten over that part a long time ago. It was history. Tsuzuki had promised not to do anything foolish or life-threatening, and they had left it at that.

Actually, Hisoka didn't recall Tsuzuki promising anything like that. Not in those actual words, anyway. 

But he had said something to similar effect, he _had, damn him._

_"You're not supposed to be doing this!" _Hisoka wanted to yell in frustration, but the words didn't come. This was crazy. Tsuzuki hadn't come here to die. But he couldn't kill either, not when they knew Muraki still had power over Hisoka's soul. 

Muraki was no fool, and his eyes were already narrowed in suspicion. Already, Hisoka could feel the tug on his soul loosen ever so slightly, as the first traces of comprehension dawned in the doctor's eyes. Hisoka thought he almost saw shock flash across Muraki's face, before the _expression was replaced swiftly by anger.

_Don't like having unexpected side effects, do you? _No doubt Muraki didn't want his most favourite plaything to be broken along with the discarded one. It was all they had ever been. Them and about everyone else. 

He couldn't describe how much he hated this man, hated him so much and so long that those feelings of hatred bubbled up to the surface of his mind, so hot and searing it almost numbed him to the pain he was experiencing.

Some people say hate was as strong an emotion as love. It was true. In fact, sometimes Hisoka would lie awake and wonder if hatred was more powerful than love. Sometimes, in the back of his mind, there were those thoughts he wouldn't admit to having, or confessions, more precisely. Admitting to himself that he was the person he was today due to hatred, and not love. Admitting that he was here because of Muraki.

He closed his eyes, concentrating, and he thought he could see the weaves that pulled his soul from him. His and Tsuzuki's. His years of a Shinigami had taught him to exert some control over his empathy, and he had found that it branched out into other areas, including sensing magical ambiences.

Then he saw something that made him suck in his breath in disbelief, made hope course through his mind.

Surely that wasn't a flaw in Muraki's spell. It could_ not_ be. Muraki wasn't one to make mistakes. 

Reaching out, he felt the crackling aura of Muraki's magic, could almost see the interweaving of the complex spell that at this very moment leeched his soul from him. It was beyond his comprehension, the convoluted webs of sorcery something that would require him many years more of study and practice to accomplish.

But he was almost certain there was a weak point there, almost unnoticeable. But he was an empath, and that made all the difference.

It went against everything he had ever learned; it went against the basic rules that every novice omnyouji learned. _Never dabble in the unknown._ But he was desperate. And they were both dying.

He did it, garnered all the strength he had left, did what was probably the stupidest thing ever in his existence.

He smashed the weaves of Muraki's spell; the weaves tore at the seams, but did not actually give way; and when he had no remaining strength, he drew whatever Tsuzuki had.

It was more than enough. The spell broke, and he could feel his soul rebounding back into his body. 

But even as Muraki stumbled backwards from the force of the backlash, he could already see the calculating glint in Muraki's eyes, and…anticipation. And the shock from Tsuzuki, the disbelief.

Tsuzuki probably didn't think he would do anything so _reckless. But already his partner was reacting, grabbing Hisoka roughly by the arm and pulling him to his feet. Trying to get away._

It came; feeling almost as if the entire world crashing down on him, collapsing under the raw power of the fight between Muraki and him combined with Tsuzuki. Borders between worlds blurred, barriers between what was and what was meant to be crumbled, and Hisoka had this weird sensation of falling, to where, he did not know.

This wasn't real…this descent into nothingness, being swallowed by waves of roiling darkness…it was as if he were above a cliff, the wind roaring at the edges of his hearing, and if he looked down, he could see the angry sea below, sprays of white devouring anything within sight.

It was as if he had taken that one fatal step, and now he was feeling the merciless tug of gravity, falling-the sea was rushing up to meet him-hearing nothing but the ear-piercing shriek of the wind, knowing nothing but the imminent splash and the stinging pain as water meets skin.

_''We'll find a way, Hisoka.''_  Tsuzuki said that once; it seemed so long ago.

_But where are we supposed to go, Tsuzuki?_ They were falling past the boundaries of reality and illusion, beyondthe flickering lights of the souls the lie in this world. 

He did not even know if they were going to die. His experience of death wasn't like this. Death was more of a departure than a descent, more like a release than this pull towards an unknown world.

And there was Muraki. His mind was so confused he could no longer sense Muraki's presence. 

He closed his eyes and waited for the splash.

He refused to believe this was death.

But was it?

***__


	5. Chapter 4

**Um. Hey. Hi there.**

Chapter Four (Part One)

_Hisoka, Hisoka, Hisoka-chan_…

Light dust motes flickered at the edge of his vision, seemingly expanding like growing fireflies as he blinked open his eyes. Placing a hand over his face to shield himself from the sunrays filtering through the paper windows, he stared blankly up into the person who was smiling down at him, mind still refusing to register the person's identity from the distorted image through the space between his fingers.

"I'm sorry for waking you up, Hisoka-chan." A hand gently took his away from his face and started caressing his hair softly. "You can lie back for a while longer."

The fingers tenderly brushed back the stray strands of hair across his forehead, lightly stroking the edges of his cheeks fondly as their owner began singing softly: an old folk song that rang out through the silent morning like the bells in the old temple far north.

_In the mountain opposite  
What is that thing that is shining?  
Is it the stars, the fireflies or  
the gold bugs glittering?_

Hisoka felt his eyelids drooping as the rich, familiar voice sang on, almost hypnotising in quality, the old words sweeping across his dazed mind with the power it carried across the times. Fumbling blindly, he touched the soft edges of silk, heavy and richly embroidered with fine thread.

A subtle, delicate fragrance of wisteria wafted across his senses as he firmly gripped the silk in his hand. Overcome by strong feeling of nostalgia, he wondered why he still could not picture that person's face clearly in his mind as he drifted off to sleep. The image he came up with was sketchy and fragmented—a few strands of loose hairs across the cheeks, a slight curve at the edges of the lips.

_The window frame sounds like..._

He thought he had stopped caring, but only now did he realise that when one experienced pain greater than what one could bear, the human mind would choose to numb itself to the pain in order to survive. He hadn't managed to forget, but had instead emptied his mind of his past. Experiencing this was like tearing apart old scars to reveal unhealed wounds.

What a nightmare this was.

He expected to open his eyes to sterile white ceilings of his apartment, but his vision was filled with the dark brown of wooden rafters. The burning sandalwood incense filled the room with its thick and heady scent, light tendrils of smoke slowly curling up towards the ceilings. Hisoka gasped and bolted up immediately, flinging aside the heavy blankets and staring at the heartrendingly familiar room around him.

It's been years since he last stepped in here, and even when he had in the past, the memories were fleeting and transient, interspersed with lonely moments in a dark cell. Time, it seemed, did not wash away the memories of a child. Hisoka had never expected that he would actually still think of this place, with its cold and unpleasant memories as _home_; Meifu was supposed to replace Kanagawa in the respect, the everlasting sakura blossoms taking the place of the maple leaves and archaic mood of Kanagawa.

_Childhood memories…_

Hisoka froze at the thought. His body suddenly felt strangely ungainly, even more so than he normally felt in his stunted sixteen-year-old body. His movements felt slow, as if he were wading through thick mud, hands and legs seemingly shorter and indescribably clumsy.

_Oh gods_, he thought as he scrambled out of bed. Falling onto the rough tatami mats, he held out his hands before him, staring at the short, chubby fingers and trying desperately to interpose his memories of being sixteen-year-old physically upon the current image; sixteen, with his undergrown adolescent body and his long, spider-like fingers.

His alarm escalated as he winced at the stinging pain resulting from the hard pinches he gave himself. The freshly abused skin remained flushed and warm, the skin already slowly swelling but still not showing traces of the expected Shinigami healing. Biting his lip fiercely, he tasted the metallic, tangy taste of blood; the wound remained tender as he licked it, a slight indent in his skin that stung like the prick of a needle.

Taking a deep breath, he got up and walked towards the dressing table, running his fingers over familiar objects long since locked in his memory. The embroidered blankets, the smooth wooden panels, the paper screens, the intricately carved divider…

He stopped before the mirror, his fingers reaching out tentatively towards the cold surface and then returning to his face, touching the now almost-alien skin in an almost fearful wonder.

Soft flaxen curls with more gold than his sixteen-year-old wheat-coloured hair, big, liquid, green eyes only a child could own, and the rosy-pink cheeks seen so often on children greeted him from the mirror.

He pressed his hands firmly against the top of the dressing table, lifting himself up, his legs, no, the legs of this _child_, dangling in the air as he tried to take a closer look.

"Hisoka!" Hisoka caught his breath as he turned around to face that voice, his feet plopping unceremoniously to the ground as he let go of the edge of the table.

"Mother…"

Dark curls framing a heart-shaped faced, doe-like eyes staring at him from under thick eyelashes fondly—a beautiful face, not yet marred by vengeance and bitterness and disappointment.

"Hisoka." He was lifted up in a tight embrace, spun around like a _child_, before being cuddled close to his mother's chest, the scent of wisteria thick and heavy on his nostrils.

"Breakfast, Hisoka." Her hands briskly but gently removed the layers of his yukata from him, dressing him instead in the heavy silk fabric of a kimono. Fingertips brushed his skin, sometimes lingering longer than they have to, reassuring and tender the way a mother's touch should be.

_Misery_. _Worry_. _Loneliness_.

Hisoka wrenched himself away as his mother finished tying the sash of his robe

"Hisoka?" He lifted his head to meet her gaze firmly. His eyes came from his father. Rui's was dark, a very rare pure black, and right now they were hurt and accusatory

"_Mother, why are you so sad?" _

He smiled. "It's nothing, mother, I tripped." Before she could call the lie, he wrapped his arms around her, oh gods, he was only at her waist, distracting her with soft tugs at her kimono as he pulled her towards the door.

Rui smiled down fondly at him, her hand reaching out to grasp his almost reverently.

They were all living this perfect lie before he had ripped it apart at its seams. Hisoka pulled aside the sliding doors. He might as well let them live it this time round.

Might as well. Before long, he was surely going to wake up, because he wasn't six and his bottom lip was still hurting even though it shouldn't because he wasn't alive so this must be a dream and oh gods why was this dream so bloody long.

Rui was leading now. Mother, with all her grace and elegance and beauty.

Hisoka winced, his tongue once again tasting salt as he tentatively licked at his aggravated wound.


	6. Chapter 5

I no longer have a beta-reader, and I normally do not proofread my writing.

Chapter Five

As of now, Hisoka was starting to repent his sins. Being eternally stuck sixteen was certainly no justification for being a whiny brat (he assured himself that this was merely a self-effacing exaggeration for his past (future?) behaviour), considering the trauma a six-year-old has to deal with every single day of his life.

"Your posture, Hisoka," Rui chastised as she deftly wound the sash of his kimono around his waist.

Hisoka choked back a frustrated a sigh and straightened his back. "Yes, mother." If he had wondered how he had managed to survive his brief teenage life, now he was wondering how he managed to survive his now seemingly painfully long childhood. He fiddled with his sash irritably as Rui fussed with his hair, only to have his hands placed by his sides gently but firmly. He shifted uneasily under the weight of his kimono, and he heard his mother sighing heavily in response. If he had been actually ten years younger, he might have curled into bundle of absolute shame for disappointing his mother so. Beautiful Mother, who sighed gracefully, managed to be alluring in her frustration, and somehow never failed to entice even in her anger. Who would dare displease her?

Right then, however, Hisoka just wanted to scream. He might have done so if he had been a wonderful age of sixteen. But no, not at six, where his fastest speed required only slight stretch of an arm to keep him in place. Six-year-olds should not be subjected to such indignity. Mothering was meant for slobs like…slobs like…

"Turn around," Rui straightened his obi, "yes…yes, you look perfect." She gave him a quick kiss on the forehead. "I'll see you in the family shrine in half an hour." She smiled fondly down at him, but the pride in her eyes made Hisoka feel uncomfortably like a prize just being to be trotted out for a parade.

Hisoka scrambled onto the stool before the dressing table right after the sliding doors closed behind her. The face that stared back at him from the mirror was exactly what he had expected—big round eyes, cheeks still puffy from baby fat, fair smooth skin…He studied himself carefully, superimposing the image of his sixteen-year-old self upon the childish countenance. Narrower eyes, slightly more tilted at the ends, a thinner mouth, slightly more prominent cheekbones…the image blurred. What would he look like at sixteen? A fresh wave of panic welled up. He _was_ sixteen. He _had _been sixteen. Been more than that. Why could he not remember? He desperately pictured himself again at the age of sixteen. The age he had spent so much time in…why did he think that?

He paused. His head throbbed from the effort of trying to remember. How could you spend more than the normal year being sixteen? Yet he remembered being sixteen for more than that…a much longer time…no, he was only six. No, it must have been a strange dream. Wait…

He remembered someone. The slob he was thinking about. He must have been a friend, although he couldn't remember the man's name. Were they close? They must have been, although he found it strange that he would actually miss someone whose name he couldn't remember.

The man had strange eyes.

Rui came in to hustle him out. The lush brocade of the kimono she wore gave him a strange but not unpleasant jolt of familiarity.

The man had purple eyes.

Life wasn't actually the best for eight-year-old Hisoka. He lacked the mental faculties of the average eight-year-old. That description might be misleading; it was not that he was slow. In fact, his understanding and intelligence far exceeded that of his peers.

Young Hisoka had dreams. They involved quite a lot of electronic devices far superior to that available as of yet; so while other eight-year-old boys played tag in the fields, Hisoka frequently occupied himself mourning the current non-existence (but he was sure would eventually come to be) of an invention which enabled people to obtain the latest movies, news, and music with a few clicks and no more than a few minutes of waiting.

The neighbourhood children thought Hisoka was strange. Hisoka, in turn, thought they were incredibly immature and, to put it bluntly, rather stupid. This did not bode well for any blossoming of a sweet childhood friendship. His mother was all too satisfied with this turn of events, for the village children were, as she termed them, "below us".

Unfortunately, even the adults failed to see things on Hisoka's level. They did not understand the importance of this new-TV-but-not-quite device that Hisoka kept raving about. His mother would say, "Hisoka, stop with this nonsense and get back to your studies (which Hisoka thought dreadfully dull; one of the few opinions he shared with all others his age)", while his father…well, Hisoka tended to put on his best behaviour when his father was around, so the few times he _did_ see his father wouldn't pose much of a problem.

His father had Problems. So did his mother, actually, but his mother's worries were almost fussy compared to that of his father. The pain and trauma his father experienced hung over the ancient mansion like a dark, ominous cloud.

His father also feared the Thing. Hisoka felt its presence as well, sometimes stronger, sometimes weaker, but it too is a constant presence in the house. The Thing Hungered and Hated like a venomous snake with an empty stomach and prey in its sight but still had not quite got around to fully feasting upon its prey yet. It was horribly Creepy and gave young Hisoka Bad Dreams at night, because all the pain and fear materialises in the ethereal dream world and it is not a pleasant experience at all for an eight-year-old child.

He woke up screaming in the middle of the night occasionally. The times were fewer and increasing further in between now as he gradually acclimatised himself to his dreams, which was a relief, because his mother was beginning to worry, and Hisoka did not feel up to the task of coming up with reasonable explanations, especially not after one of his dreams.

This was because young Hisoka, with his surprising maturity and understanding of the world, knew that the Things with Capital letters were not to be spoken of. The Kurosaki family dedicated quite a lot of their time to pretending to be normal, and Hisoka knew that the wise course would be to follow the adults' way (so that they would leave him alone).

Hisoka knew he was Different. Other people did not feel what he felt (they might _know_, but they did not _feel_). He knew they did not because it was impossible to lie to him. He also knew that one of the reasons his parents loved him as much as they do now because they thought he was _different from them_ because he was so incongruously _normal_. He had childish fantasies of high-speed databases on televisions and three-dimensional television games with vibrating remote controllers. He drew diagrams of ovens that heated things up quickly within a minute. He was a healthy child with, perhaps, a not-so-healthy-over-creative imagination.

They loved him because he was Normal. His father, in particular, wanted to protect him from all the abnormality that tainted the Kurosaki family.

Hisoka was not going to tell them that he had an uncanny ability to share their feelings, knew that there were Dead People and a Snake Monster on the grounds, and that he felt that he was the Wrong Age.

He did unwittingly let slip that he frequently dreamed of a Purple-eyed Man to his mother. It was fortunate that his mother merely gave him the look that most mothers with eight-year-old children have mastered and told him to stop dragging out his breakfast in hope of being late for his lessons.

After dreaming about the Purple-Eyed Man long enough Hisoka decided to call him Tsuzuki.

During his sixteenth year Hisoka Felt an Abnormal Murder. Hisoka was not a stranger to the trauma of death. It was, after all, a rather common event in life, however much humans chose to ignore it. Murder was perhaps a little rarer, but this one was so unsettling on so many accounts that it became a frequent visitor in Hisoka's dreams, alongside with his childhood dreams of the Monster, Dead People and the Purple-Eyed Man.

He could feel the murderer _feed_ on the pain and fear of the victim. He could feel both the life ebbing away from the terrified woman and the strength and adrenaline coursing through the blood of the attacker. His mind reeled at the terror of the dying human and soared in ecstasy at the _beauty_ of this perfect kill.

He threw up the day's meals even as the murderer let his victim, now nothing more than a bloody, beautiful corpse, fall to the ground, atop the bleeding cherry blossoms.

The household found the dead body the next day. His mother blanched and fainted to the ground at the sight of the woman while Hisoka turned and dry-retched painfully at the dizzying, nauseating smell of death and rotting cherry blossoms.

After staring silently at the corpse for what seemed forever, his father turned around to face the household. Had anyone heard or seen anything, he asked, his expression as stony and void of feeling as ever.

Hisoka joined the chorus of nos. He had, after all, only Felt it.

After his seventeenth birthday, Hisoka finally voiced his request.

He wanted to leave. He wanted to go to university. The cities were waiting for him. There was so much he had to learn.

He had barely finished when his mother's outraged screams started ringing, reverberating throughout the room as she yelled at him about honour and duty and filial piety and had he no sense of responsibility, ungrateful boy he is.

Hisoka stood quietly throughout her tirade, his eyes fixed firmly upon his father and father only.

_Yes_. Hisoka would never forget the intensity of the single emotion he felt from his father. It was an emotion that soared within Kurosaki Nagare whenever he looked upon his son, but never in his life had Hisoka experienced this strong, unfailing urge of protection so fully and passionately.

His father seemed to age ten years at the utterance of that single word.

Hisoka left for Tokyo.


End file.
